


Fallen Revenge

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Life After the Almost End of Everything [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Gabriel decides to get revenge against Crowley and Aziraphale, though it doesn't go quite right.





	1. Fight

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to Don't Forget, which you can read here  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867459/chapters/49601378

“You took everything from me!” The words filtered into Crowley’s mind through a fog. He was on the floor, his head was pounding, the world slowly coming into blurry focus around him.  
“That’s hardly a fair assessment. She did give you a chance. Plenty, really.” That was Aziraphale, steady but flustered. A clang, whoosh of air, angry shout.  
He groaned, pushing himself up, swaying unevenly as he held onto the wall to keep the world from tilting out from under him.  
Across the room, Aziraphale was ducking as a sword swung through the air, barely missing the top of his hair. He punched, landing a blow in his attackers’ gut, which made him stumble back a step.  
“I did everything right, I followed all the instructions, and still, still! it’s you and that traitor who get everything I deserve.” He spat. A feint left with the sword, then he pressed forwards. Aziraphale stumbled back, tripping over the carpet. Gabriel raised his blade, a frenzied smile on his face as he prepared to plunge downwards.  
Crowley shifted to a serpent, speeding across the floor. He shifted back before Aziraphale, deflecting the blade with his arm, feeling it cut deep into his flesh, down to the bone. He felt blood dripping from his forearm, barely registering the burning sensation. His slit pupiled gaze was locked onto the disgraced angel before him.  
“Don’t try me, Gabriel. Leave now and I might even let you live.” Crowley hissed, letting his skin turn to rough scale, his fangs bared.  
“You. You have it. Give it to me, it should be mine.” Gabriel snarled, lunging forwards. Crowley used his momentum against him, stepping lithely out of the way before grabbing Gabriel and hurling him in the opposite direction. He crashed against a bookshelf, cracking the wood.  
In an instant, Gabriel was back on his feet, Crowley stalking forwards to meet him, dodging his slash and lashing out with his fists, hearing something crack in Gabriel’s chest.  
The two were a flurry of action, almost too fast to follow with the naked eye, dodging and weaving throughout the room. Gabriel had the advantage in brute strength and power as well as wielding a blade, but Crowley was quick, his reflexes instant. He managed to dodge the worst of Gabriel’s blows, while getting in his own powerful strikes.  
But Crowley was using everything to fend off the dizziness that came with every movement, the blurriness that obscured his aim, and soon his speed began to falter.  
“What’s wrong demon? Tired already?” Gabriel snarled, kicking Crowley in the chest, cracking something inside as he slammed against a wall, momentarily knocking the breath out of him.  
“Last I checked you’re the only true demon in the room, Gabe.” Crowley replied, grinning. As he’d hoped, that pushed Gabriel over the edge. He roared, charging forwards, intending to slice through Crowley’s throat.  
Instead Crowley shifted, the sword only catching the chain around his neck, sending the locket flying into the debris as he coiled and sprung, trying to aim for the neck, but Gabriel backhanded him in midair, sending him crashing into a book case, stunned back to half serpent form.  
He rolled as the sword came down where he’d been seconds ago, unable to push himself back to his feet. That blade was coated in something, he could feel his mind going numb again, realizing dimly it must be some form of holy oil. In small amounts it worked as a strong sedative to demons and other unholy creatures, not to say it couldn’t kill in large enough doses.  
He saw Gabriel looming over him, then there was a rush of air and white feathers, and Aziraphale had grappled him back against the wall.  
“this is madness, Gabriel, just stop, we can just talk.” Aziraphale nearly pleaded, but Gabriel shoved him back.  
“Talk, that’s all you seem to do, isn’t it? Can’t you ever just shut up!?” Gabriel shouted. “You were always so useless, so utterly idiotic, so unable to see the big picture.” He advanced on Aziraphale, wings bursting open, and Crowley gasped.  
They were blackened and burned, the feathers scorched ashy gray, ragged and uneven, the bones twisted wrongly. Crowley had simply meant to insult him by calling him a demon, but he had actually fallen. Leave it to God to neglect the important details.  
“But I? I was always two steps ahead, you were just too naïve to see it. Now, give it to me, before I do something I, well, let’s be honest, I won’t regret it.”  
A demon. Crowley knew how much falling twisted you into something else, something dark. Gabriel had already been a psychopath, that was exacerbated now with no light to balance him. He realized belatedly that Gabriel was after his grace, held in the locket given to him by God. He wanted the power of an archangel back, and this was where he’d known to find it.  
And if he was actually that desperate, actually a demon, he had demonic powers. Powers that could and would be fatal to his angel. A rush of adrenaline sent him to his feet, using all his imagination to keep pretending he was in any fit state to be fighting.  
He grit his teeth as he transformed into his human sized cobra form, streaking across the room. He flared his hood between Aziraphale and Gabriel as the now demon lunged. Crowley let out a hiss as the sword pierced through his cobra hood. In that moment, when he was closest, Crowley sprang forwards, fangs bared. He didn’t know how much his venom would do against another demon, but at very least it should hurt.  
He struck, latching onto Gabriel’s shoulder, pumping him with venom. The demon let out a breath of pain, before raking the recoiling Crowley with a clawed hand, faster than the cobra could dodge. He hissed at the pain down his middle, and he fell back to his knees in human form, clutching his chest, unable to sustain his snake any longer.  
He could see the venom working its way through Gabriel’s body. His steps seemed unsteady and his eyes glazed over as he fell to his knees. He glared at Crowley, eyes so full of burning hatred that Crowley looked away first, then the former angel went limp. Good, he’d fallen recently enough it still knocked him out and paralyzed him, at least.  
Aziraphale instantly dropped down beside Crowley, who was holding his chest, a deep and ugly gash stretching from right shoulder to left hip, blood trickling down into his eyes from a cut across his forehead. His arm was going numb as well, and he cradled it against his body. He barely even noticed Gabriel’s sword still piercing him through his right shoulder. That was already tingling with a low burning feeling.  
“Crowley! Oh lord, Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed out, instantly miracling gauze, trying to figure out what to stop first.  
“Sss nothing, angel. I’ve been worssse.” Aziraphale knew just how bad it was from the extra hisses in Crowley’s words. That only happened when he was immensely emotional or intensely in pain.  
“You’ll be alright, my dear. You’ll be up and about-“ Aziraphale froze, a strange look coming over his face, a low strangled moan escaping his lips, before he toppled forwards onto Crowley’s lap.  
“Angel? Angel, answer me!” Aziraphale shuddered, convulsing, a strange looking mark spreading across to the front of his neck. It was red and irritated, hot to the touch. He could see it spreading, a pitch-black color slowly advancing through the angel’s veins, across his skin. He looked up, meeting Gabriel’s dimming eyes.  
“I win.” A vial fell from his hands, no doubt what he had managed to splash on Aziraphale with the last of his strength when the angel’s back was turned. A few drops spilled onto the floor, eating through the wood like acid, and Crowley cursed. He needed to move Aziraphale, he needed to get him resting, but he couldn’t do that with a sword sticking out of his chest.  
He let out a low breath, bracing himself and squeezing shut his eyes, wincing at the twinge of pain as he gripped the blade.  
“Fuck, this is gonna hurt.” He whispered, ripping it out before he had a chance to hesitate. He let out a low growling hiss, black spots flashing across his vision as he doubled over, clenching his fist so hard he left crescent moon marks on his palm, but he couldn’t black out now. He had to take care of Aziraphale, and in a completely different way, take care of Gabriel.  
He eased Aziraphale off his lap, unsteadily getting to his feet, gripping the blade now dripping with his own blood.  
“Go to Hell you insufferable bastard, and stay there this time.” His voice seethed with loathing and hate, as he stood over Gabriel, eyes burning like coals as he plunged the blade downwards into the demon’s heart. That would do it. He stumbled back to Aziraphale, wrapping his left arm around the angel’s shoulders, half walking-half dragging him onto the couch.  
“Aziraphale. Come on, I need you to wake up, I need you to be alright.” Crowley begged, perching unsteadily beside the angel, running his hands through his hair. He could feel Aziraphale’s temperature rising, could feel the sickness spreading through him, eating away at his light, devouring his soul.  
Liquid Hell fire. That’s what it was. And it ate angels alive, as deadly and painful to them as holy water was to demons, except markedly slower.  
Only a tiny amount had actually been absorbed by Aziraphale’s skin, but it didn’t matter. A drop was enough. The amount only affected how long it took for them to die, extending their torment to weeks or even months sometimes. This would be faster. This would be a day, at most, maybe an hour.  
He could feel Aziraphale shaking, could imagine the intense blaze burning inside him, it was almost like falling, this fire eating away all the light, except it didn’t even leave you to the darkness, it ate that too until everything was obliterated in searing agony. Aziraphale cried out, and Crowley shushed him, kissing his forehead, his temp already far, far too hot.  
“Crowley…” Aziraphale croaked out, opening his eyes, those usually sky blues dulled to a muddy riverbank hue.  
“I’m here love, I’ve got you. I’m going to fix this, I know exactly how to fix this.” And he did. He reached for the locket around his neck, cursing as he remembered he’d lost it somewhere in the fight.  
“You’re… hurt…” He was. He could barely feel it through the adrenaline, no doubt the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the spot, but he could feel it. His chest burned, every breath a challenge, his head spun, his vision obscured by his blood, his right arm was limp against his side, he was slightly feverish himself. But he shook his head, taking Aziraphale’s hand and kissing it gently.  
“I’m fine, love. You hang in there for me, alright? Stay awake for me, tell me… tell me about where we should go for supper tonight, eh?” Crowley said, voice tinged with desperation as he pulled himself to his feet, nearly falling flat on his face as he stepped away from the couch.  
He leaned heavily against the book shelves as he stumbled to the wall where he’d felt it go flying, taking short, shallow breaths as he moved. He’d never known breathing could hurt like this. He slid to his knees, feeling through the broken wood and rubble with his good arm, vision almost completely taken up by dancing spots of darkness. He could hear Aziraphale mumbling, which meant the angel was still conscious, that was good.  
Finally, his hand closed around something metal, and he could immediately feel some strength return as his soul called out to that which the locket contained. He gripped it tightly, slowly dragging his way back to Aziraphale, unable to force himself to his feet. Just a little longer, he just had to hold on a little longer.  
“Alright love. One moment, and you’ll be right as rain.” His heart cracked looking at his angel. Already, sweat beaded his brow and his complexion was ashen. The rash had spread rapidly, across his neck and over his chest, his veins blackening with poison. Where the burn first originated the skin was turning black, flaking away, dead. The dead spots were quickly growing, dissolving away any flesh it touched. It was eating away at him like acid. It would feel like acid too.  
“I’m… alright…” Aziraphale mumbled out, though his brow was creased with effort getting the words out. He was shaking, breath ragged and uneven. Crowley took his hand, held it tight, closed his eyes, and flipped open the locket.  
His world exploded with light. Pure, blazing white light. It was like stars dancing through endless night, like summer days, like crystalline snow, like perfection and magic and boundless, endless, buoyancy. He caught his breath, forcing himself to focus, to take it in and not be overwhelmed. He’d have time to be overwhelmed later, to contemplate what this meant later.  
He gasped as it found his soul, slipping back into place, filling him instantly with light that shimmered from every fingertip. He was filled with power he hadn’t felt in thousands of years, in memories of starlight and warmth, in a deep, soothing calm that he hadn’t known he was still capable of. It felt like aloe to the soul, felt like new growth and green things, felt like sun warmed earth and damp soil. It felt like life.  
Instinctually, he channeled that feeling through his hand, into Aziraphale. He wove his way through Aziraphale’s veins and bones and blood stream. Wherever he went, he flushed out the infection that had taken root, wrapping itself around arteries, eating away at his heart and veins, choking his body like vines on a tree. Then he rebuilt all the tissue the corruption had dissolved, layer by layer, so it wouldn’t scar, then he healed any cuts and bruises the angel had sustained. That was the easy part, that was the body.  
He focused and delved deep into Aziraphale’s center, his core, his soul, his aura, whatever you wanted to call it. It was normally a pure white, but here the darkness flickered at the edges like shadows, eating away at it like a spreading burn, infecting and twisting the soul until it collapsed in on itself. It was tricky, slippery stuff.  
He chased the strands of dark fire through the light, but it twisted away in unexpected patterns. Just as he thought he had hold of it all, the blackness sprang back, stronger than before, hungrier than before, devouring more and more. Slowly but surely, Aziraphale was being eaten alive. He was losing him.  
Crowley grit his teeth. Even as an archangel, hellfire was not easy to heal, it was made to be resistant to his brand of divine power, that was the whole point. He doubted any angel of lower rank could even hope to heal something so severe, especially while being half dead themselves. Not to mention his power was weaker than it had ever been, rusty and diluted from being separated from him for so long. He was losing energy, he couldn’t keep chasing the darkness in circles, he had to flush it out all at once.  
He summoned all his power, all his strength, everything left in him. He summoned all the light Aziraphale had given him over the years, all the small glances and subtle smiles, all the joy and safety, all the love, everything he currently had to give, and pushed it forcefully into the angel in an expansive blazing starlight that exploded through his mind like fireworks. He sagged back against the couch, praying that worked before succumbing to nothingness.


	2. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has to heal Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than the previous chapter, but oh well. Let me know what you think!

Aziraphale shot upwards with a gasp, heart pounding. He was drenched in a cold sweat. He had a vague memory of burning pain, of encroaching darkness, of searing, blinding light.   
Fighting, they’d been fighting Gabriel, he’d been taken down by Crowley, then… then his mind went blank. Crowley! Crowley had been hurt, where was…   
He was slumped unconscious against the couch. One arm lay across it, reaching out to Aziraphale, red gold blood dripping down onto the cushions. The other lay limply across his chest.   
“Crowley… no no no, not now, come on my dear.” Aziraphale dropped off the couch, kneeling besides his demon, taking in his injuries, the puddle of blood the demon was laying in, his shallow breaths, his ghost white complexion.   
Red gold? Demons bled deep, almost black, red, angels bled gold, what… the locket. The locket was clasped in his hand, snapped open, despite his hesitance Crowley had used it, taken his grace back… to save him.   
“zir… phale?” Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, voice weak.   
“Shh, shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s alright, Crowley.” Crowley smiled.   
“I’ve still got it… after all…” Crowley stuttered, closing his eyes as a coughing fit took over, leaving him doubled over and gasping, a streak of red trailing down his chin.   
“Crowley, you have to heal yourself, you can’t keep on like this for much longer.” Aziraphale stated, moving to support Crowley, so the demon was cradled in his lap, head resting against his chest.   
“Can’t love. Not as strong as I used to be… used everything I got …on that damn hellfire... you’ll have to do it…” Crowley winced, every breath antagonized his lungs, sent searing cold waves through his chest, and he lost himself in another hacking fit.   
“I’m not a healer, Crowley, not like you were, are, were, whatever! I don’t… I can’t…” Crowley tipped his head back, looking up into Aziraphale’s face, reaching up and resting his hand against the angel’s cheek.   
“Any angel can heal, Aziraphale. Some just have more skill than others. Just cause you haven’t doesn’t mean you can’t.” He took a shuddering breath, flinching. Aziraphale caught his hand, held it to his cheek, nuzzling against it.   
“Just in case this is the one I can’t get out of… I love you, Aziraphale.”   
“I know Crowley, you’ve only told me a thousand times.” Crowley chuckled wetly.   
“Just making sure… it hadn’t slipped your mind, love.” Then his hand went limp and he slumped against Aziraphale, spent. Aziraphale cursed, trying not to panic. He’d healed before, of course, but nothing like this, not of this scale. Not with Crowley barely hanging on.   
“Alright. Just do what you’ve done before. It’s worked fine on humans. You can figure it out from there. Maybe that’ll be enough, anyways.” He muttered, pulling up his sleeves, placing his hands over the wound on Crowley’s chest, focusing his power.   
He was drawing a blank. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this and he could feel Crowley slipping away, could feel his essence fading and he was sitting right there and he couldn’t do anything-  
Focus. He had to focus and calm down. If he panicked, he would be of no use to anyone. Crowley had been half unconscious and bleeding out, and he’d still managed to heal his angel. If Crowley could pull himself together, so could Aziraphale.   
He took a deep breath in, out, closing his eyes. He focused on his heart beat. On the feel of his knees against the hardwood floor. Of his hands against sticky fabric. He focused on the feel of his pulse, on clearing his mind, on the subtle noises of cars on the roadway outside, of pedestrians passing by. He let it all go, let himself fill up on the silence, the emptiness, let that silence turn into light, let out a soft breath as he gently nudged it towards Crowley.   
He felt the demon soaking up the light, absorbing it, replenishing his strength and power. He could feel the second he could no longer tolerate the holy light, the jolt that ran through his body and Aziraphale flinched back, opening his eyes. He dared not do more.  
Blushing, he unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt, sliding it off of him, examining the effects of his healing attempt. He let out a huff, miracling away any blood on or around Crowley.   
It was better. The gash across his chest was closed up, the skin there pink and puckered in a newly healed scar, still tender. The puncture through his shoulder was a different story. It had stopped gushing out blood and was now simply oozing out dark ichor. The blade. The blade had sat there long enough to do some sort of ethereal damage.   
Carefully, Aziraphale pressed a hand against the wound, wincing as Crowley let out a sharp hiss of breath, trying to struggle away. He drew in any holy essence he could feel, pulling it from throughout Crowley’s body, drawing it out until he was sure enough of it was siphoned away that it wouldn’t hurt Crowley any further than it already had. He had managed to cleanse all the cuts and scrapes on the demon so he wouldn’t have to do that by hand, at least. Then he miracled himself a needle and thread, suturing shut the shoulder wound, the gash on Crowley’s forehead, the deep cut across his arm, bandaging and binding everything carefully. Given his reaction to Aziraphale’s first attempt at healing, he opted to finish the rest via these more traditional means.  
He was still ashen, except for his cheeks which were unnaturally blushed, and he was cold, too cold. Aziraphale knew Crowley was partly cold blooded, cons of being a serpent. He could normally regulate his own body temp well enough, but right now he didn’t have the energy necessary. He needed to get the demon under some blankets. He needed to get him warmed up.  
He didn’t know how much internal damage Crowley had taken, either, nor how much he’d managed to heal. Regardless, he’d lost too much blood. Not to mention his soul was trying to reconcile demonic darkness and angelic light, a dangerous transition, especially since he didn’t have any power to spare at the moment.   
“Oh Crowley, why do you always make things so complicated?” the angel asked tiredly, kissing the demon’s forehead. Crowley shivered, curling tighter against Aziraphale, lines of pain furrowing his brow, breathing hitched.   
“Ziri…” Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper, tinged with hurt, panic.   
“You’re alright, dear. I’ve got you.”   
“safe… not… safe…” He whimpered, struggling to open his eyes, to stand up, but he barely succeeded in squeezing his hand tight against Aziraphale’s coat.   
“Hush, dearest. I was a guardian of Eden once, I can handle it. Let me keep watch this time, Crowley, let me stand guard. You just rest, just get some rest for me.” Aziraphale swallowed hard as Crowley looked up at him with half open eyes, blurry and unfocused.   
Slowly, the demon nodded once, tucking his head down against Aziraphale’s shoulder, closing his eyes again to repress the tears that gathered there. He wouldn’t cry, not now. He was already drifting off again anyways.   
“Ok... I trust… trust you, zir.” Then he was out again, curled close against Aziraphale, visibly relaxing as he breathed in Aziraphale’s warmth.   
Aziraphale sat there for a long moment, letting out a shaky laugh. Of course, of course Crowley would say something like that, rip his heart apart like that so unintentionally.   
Crowley had never said that he trusted Aziraphale. He didn’t have to. By now it was implicit, it was clear in his every movement, his every action, that he more than trusted Aziraphale with all his heart. But the angel doubted Crowley had ever in his life said aloud the words “I trust you” to anyone.   
Now here he was, hurt and completely defenseless, not knowing if another attack was imminent, sleeping quietly as a babe because he unequivocally trusted Aziraphale.  
“you’re always willing to give everything for me, Crowley. I wish you wouldn’t sometimes. I wish you’d be more selfish about your own life, and taking risks with it.” Aziraphale murmured, scooping up Crowley’s lanky form, shushing him gently as he cried out.   
“I know I know I know Crowley, I know dearest.” He miracled them upstairs into his bedroom, and he settled Crowley on the bed, tucking him in carefully around his injuries. Not that he’d ever tell Crowley, but he’d purposefully left a bit of the holy oil essence in Crowley’s system, to help him sleep. Heaven knows he wouldn’t let himself get any rest otherwise.  
He sat down on the bed beside Crowley, the demon instantly snuggled closer, using Aziraphale’s stomach as a pillow, hugging the angel around the middle with his left arm. Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly, smile playing on his lips. He pulled the blanket tighter around Crowley, rubbing soothing circles on his back, siphoning the demon’s pain into himself. Crowley had taken all the hits for him, he would not let his demon suffer all of this alone, he would take as much of it for him as he could.


	3. She Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley speaks with a familiar being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! There will be one more chapter after this, I think!

He stood on an ethereal white plain. He recognized it from the not apocalypse. This is where he’d stopped time, briefly, for Aziraphale. A place between. He raked a hand through his hair, feeling the moment She stepped in.   
“This does not make me yours. I won’t ever be yours again. Don’t even try that with me. I wouldn’t have ever used it except Aziraphale…” He trailed off, turning around to face Her, eyes burning. “Speaking of, weren’t you supposed to be keeping things under control? What was it again… oh, she promises heaven will leave us alone and make sure that the other side does the same?” Crowley drawled. His posture was perfectly snakelike, he was so still it looked like he might be a statue, but he was tense, coiled to spring.  
“Things evolved beyond my control.” Crowley barked out a laugh.   
“You expect me to believe that excuse twice? First you want us to make peace between heaven and hell, now you cause Gabriel to fall? You knew that would only cause trouble, you knew he already hated Aziraphale, he’s the one that TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME and you let it almost happen again!” Crowley was pacing, agitatedly tugging at his hair.   
“I know we’re not supposed to understand the divine plan and all that, but you’d think you would at least give us a bit of a warning when you decide to make our loudest enemy even more hateful and desperate.” Crowley glared at Her, not pausing in his movement.   
“He chose his path. He chose hate and anger and envy over any good long ago. His fall was his own fault. I did not cause it.” Crowley scoffed.   
“Funny, how it keeps coming down to that with your angels nowadays. Maybe its cause you kicked all the ones with any empathy to the curb the moment they showed it. The only ones left are hard and polished and cut whatever they touch. You keep talking about choices this, choices that, they chose, but you never let any of us choose! You chose whatever was convenient for you, and ignored everyone else who said otherwise, who thought otherwise, who knew better than you. And I’m sick of getting hurt because of it!” Crowley shouted, hands balled into fists.   
“But that’s not why you’re here.” He deflated slightly, anger vanishing as quick as it came. “You’ve never much cared for anyone else’s opinion, least of all mine, you always did favor Michael and Gabriel, so go on. Give me the sales pitch. Tell me how because I’m technically an angel now I’m yours to command, and I’ll tell you to go to hell, and with any luck I’ll end up back there myself. Better than having to work with Uriel and Sandalphon.” Crowley sighed, sitting down and pulling his knees to his chest, rubbing his forehead as he looked out at the endlessly bright nothingness. He didn’t care anymore. He was tired and sick of it and done with it.   
“We just want to live. To be able to live, to be ourselves, instead of having to hide away from everything. I just want to be able to love him, without that putting him in danger. I’ve waited so long to just be able to be there, standing with him in the open, I just want love him how he deserves to be loved, to show him how he deserves to be treated. Why is that so terribly hard for everyone to understand?” He muttered, surreptitiously swiping at the corners of his eyes.   
“Because hate comes so much easier than love, Raphael. Pride is easier than forgiveness. Loathing is easier than protectiveness. They don’t understand, yet, how to take those first steps, how to bridge that gap that you and Aziraphale crossed so easily together.” Crowley shrugged.   
“I was falling to pieces after literally falling to pieces. He was… kind. Any other angel would have struck me down, especially because of who I used to be and what I did. He just… had faith.” His lips twisted. “And look where that got him.” He could still see the punishment he’d taken for Aziraphale in heaven, they hadn’t even pretended to give him a trial, they’d just expected him to walk to his death. It had infuriated him, how they treated his angel, how they put him down, knowing how miserable they must’ve made him over these thousands of years. For the first time Crowley had understood why he’d refused to admit they were friends, refused to run away with him, refused to acknowledge what they were. Whether or not Aziraphale realized it, the angel had been afraid, and after what Crowley saw of heaven, rightly so.   
He’d forgiven Aziraphale that exact moment for anything he’d said in the lead up to the apocalypse, anything he’d ever said that had been harsh or mean or cruel in an attempt to push Crowley away. He realized for the first time that the thermos of holy water would have gotten Aziraphale punished just as severely as it would have gotten Crowley punished, that their arrangement wouldn’t have gotten the angel just a slap on the wrist as he’d assumed. He’d realized just how much he’d had wrong about heaven. And he hadn’t stopped being furious about it since.  
“I understand why you want me to help. I do. And I almost want to, I almost would, some days. But the problem is… I can’t. I can’t forgive all of heaven, I can’t stop being angry at the angels, at you, at… at everything! I don’t know how to be better than that. I don’t know how he does it so easily. I’m not… I’m not ready to face them all, not yet, especially not now. They were supposed to be looking out for us, and they didn’t even try, did they? Not really. I know by now even you’re not cruel enough to set all this up just so I’d use the locket, though I will admit the thought crossed my mind. They were going to let him die, were hoping he would die…” Crowley shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his palms against his closed lids. All the bright was giving him a headache.   
“I know.” Those two words were filled with such infinite softness, such relentless understanding and love and warmth, he didn’t flinch away as he usually would have when she placed a hand on his shoulder.   
She was sorry for this, he could feel it. She was sorry her angels had failed them, sorry that she’d been focused elsewhere, sorry that Gabriel had fallen, that it wasn’t what she’d wanted, either. She was sorry for the fall, sorry for not listening, sorry for all the vengeful actions She’d taken when the world was young, and so was She.   
But she was filled with nothing but love, nothing but fondness, for the two of them. It ran deep and strong and filled her with a well of hope that things could once again change, that demons could be saved, that love could be learned. That She claimed no hold on him. On either of them. That they had done more than enough, and all she hoped was that one day they would come visit, help Heaven change, help make things better. That one day, maybe, he could forgive Her for causing him such pain, for casting him out, for abandoning them down below. That she was infinitely proud of him and who he’d become, especially because of all the challenges he’d overcome to get there, to make his own path.  
“You called me here, Raphael, and that’s all I came to say. You didn’t exactly give me a chance to, last time. I thought it might ease your mind, as well as being long overdue.” She said softly, and Crowley opened his eyes, looking bewildered and conflicted into her crystalline blues. “Now fly home, my little dove. Your angel is waiting.” He felt a soft ruffle of his hair, a light, motherly kiss upon his head, then the white swirled around and away.  
The first thing he was aware of was a throbbing ache in his shoulder. He groaned, trying to stretch it out, recoiling at the spear that seemed to lance itself through him when he tried.  
“Crowley, don’t move, dear. I did the best I could but, well, I’m not nearly as proficient as I should be, it seems.” He cracked his eyes open, blinking several times before the two hazy Aziraphales hovering over him merged into one. He took a deep breath and fought off a wave of dizziness.   
“You did fine, angel. I’m still here, aren’t I?” He asked, managing his small smirk despite the many aches quickly becoming apparent to him. He was caught off guard when Aziraphale’s lips met his, stealing his breath away in a rush of exhilaration that happened every time his angel kissed him, that pure wash of joy that they were truly together.  
“Well. Don’t mind waking up to that.” He murmured, voice raspy. Aziraphale blushed, then helped him drink some water from a cup he materialized out of thin air. His right arm was completely unusable at the moment, even shifting position sent a sharp twinge up his spine. The deep cut on his left was healing well though, thanks to Aziraphale’s stitches.   
After taking a drink, Crowley laid back against the pillows, half sitting up, right arm resting across his chest, trying to fend off the exhaustion already weighing him down. It wasn’t all from his injuries, he knew. He wasn’t hurt that bad, not really, not anymore, anyways. It was also from his soul trying to reconcile the two energies now swirling around inside it, fighting each other and draining his strength. Eventually they’d reach a balance, hopefully soon. 6000 years of darkness couldn’t be beat by the speck of light his grace had become, but it would grow with time and his being was struggling to find a way to fit it in, like a long-lost puzzle piece. His mind sharpened long enough to notice something else.   
He looked hard at Aziraphale. The angel was tired, naturally, worried about him, of course, but there were extra creases to his brow, around his eyes. He kept squeezing his hand open and closed, uncomfortably, wincing slightly.   
“Angel, stop.” Crowley said, causing Aziraphale to pause and glance at him, before looking away quickly.   
“I don’t know what you mean, my dear.” Crowley huffed.   
“You always were a terrible liar. You know exactly what I mean. I can tell, Aziraphale. You’re in pain when you have no reason to be, and I’m not feeling nearly terrible enough for all that happened to me. I was pierced by a holy blade, for God’s sakes!” He exclaimed, pausing as the name didn’t burn his tongue, didn’t cause him to gag or spit. That would take getting used to. Aziraphale muttered something.   
“What?”   
“I said you don’t deserve it, Crowley!” The angel snapped, voice hurt more than anything else.   
“What, and you do?” Aziraphale shook his head, tugging on his coat.   
“That’s not the point. You keep putting yourself directly in harm’s way for me. You keep shielding me from danger, even if it means you might get stabbed or smited or, well, I don’t know, simply killed!”   
“And you’d rather I didn’t defend you? That I let you just die?” Crowley asked, genuinely puzzled.   
“I’d rather you live for me, Crowley. And it seems like every encounter we face I get out with barely a scratch and you end up half dead. I wish you were more careful, I wish you didn’t care so much, I wish… I wish you weren’t so damn brave all the time. Especially when I wasn’t, not for far too long.” Crowley’s expression softened, and he held out his good hand to the angel. Aziraphale took it, sitting on the bed beside Crowley.   
“Angel mine, you’ve saved me more times than I could ever hope to count. Every little thing you did, every word you said, every time you spoke my name in that pleasantly surprised voice of yours, you saved me all over again.” Crowley murmured, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek, making the angel see the sincerity written in his eyes.   
“It was a different kind of saving, sure, but it was just as real and just as powerful as anything I have ever done to protect you. Maybe more, because there was no reason then for you to be kind to me. There was no reason for you to be happy to see me at the flood or the cross or the garden. You wanted me, Aziraphale, when no one and nothing else in all the worlds did. There’s nothing more miraculous than that.” Crowley whispered, letting out a sigh and turning so he was laying on his left side, facing his angel, the warmth of him so tantalizingly close.   
“Now, if it helps, keep doing what you’re doing, I won’t complain. But don’t take too much of the pain, half at most, that’s only fair, if you insist on it. Don’t do it to punish yourself for a crime you haven’t committed, don’t do it because you feel guilty I’m hurt and you aren’t, and don’t apologize again about the healing. I mean it, love, I’ll be fine in two days, at most three. You did all the important parts, I can handle the rest naturally. In the meantime,” Crowley yawned, sidling closer to Aziraphale, “I’m still too cold for my own good, so you’ll just have to keep me warm.” He buried his face against the angel’s chest, stretching so his body always touched Aziraphale’s, hissing happily as he felt his angel’s arms hold him gently.   
“You know, I’ve always found your hisses quite endearing, Crowley.” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley looked up into his angel’s laughing eyes.   
“Ssshut up Aziraphale.” Crowley replied teasingly, letting his exhaustion take him once again.


	4. Becoming Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final chapter! I do have some ideas for further stories in this timeline, so we'll see what happens. Thanks for reading and sticking with it!

He remembered snippets after that. Reality and present were blending together. He felt cold, icily cold, shivering so hard he couldn’t stop shaking.   
His soul was tearing itself apart, turning against itself, ripping him to shreds until he couldn’t see anything but red, couldn’t feel anything but searing, scorching darkness.  
He was afraid, sure he was running from something, sure that Aziraphale was in trouble, but when he got there the bookshop was aflame and the angel was gone.  
He was crashing through the sky, through the clouds, wings aflame, barreling into the earth. He had a moment’s respite, then a thousand hands reached through the dirt, dragging him down into the earth, suffocating on wet soil.  
He was holding a demon, who raged and screamed and fought, not willing to leave him alone in his grief, healing his shattered wings, his broken bones, as the young thing collapsed into desperate sobs. When he pulled back it was Aziraphale staring back at him with fire scorched wings, face twisted as he lunged forwards, spearing him through his chest even as he refused to fight back.  
He was watching as Gabriel lunged, too fast to stop, too fast to get between them, as fangs sunk into Aziraphale’s throat and suddenly it wasn’t Gabriel, it was him, pumping venom into his angel, watching as his eyes pleaded with him to stop, but he couldn’t stop, he was killing him and he couldn’t-  
“Dearest please, please stop, you’re barely healed, please, you’re going to hurt yourself. Crowley!” He jolted awake, swinging a fist desperately, sure he was under attack, gasping as knuckles hit flesh, unable to check the punch in time, a spasm of pain lancing up his shoulder.   
“Ziri! Oh god, Aziraphale, are you alright? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ He broke off, wincing at the already swelling bruise forming on the angel’s cheek.   
“It’s quite alright dear. You seemed to be having some quite… vivid… dreams.” Crowley reached up with his left hand, gently stroking Aziraphale’s cheek. A slight glow emanated from his palm, and then the mark was gone. Then Crowley fell against Aziraphale, clinging to his coat, tears leaking from his eyes as he pressed his head against the angel’s chest.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”   
“Crowley. There is nothing to apologize for.” He stroked the demon’s hair until his trembling stopped, until his sobs hiccupped to a halt. “We’re ok, my dear. You’re safe, I’m safe, we’re ok.” He whispered, pressing a kiss against Crowley’s head. Crowley surged upwards, pressing his lips desperately against Aziraphale’s, a trace of salt on his lips.  
“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed out, between kisses. “Are you quite alright?” He asked. Crowley smiled tiredly, running a hand through his hair.   
“I’m… better. I feel like I’ve been shoved through a wood chipper, but that’s to be expected. I think my soul has finally settled down with everything.” He paused, feeling out his muscles. His shoulder still ached, but his arm was healed, the scar across his chest only a bit sensitive. He stretched, wincing just a bit. Despite Aziraphale’s protests, he pushed himself out of bed, leaning against the wall.   
“Does that happen often?”  
“How long was it?” Crowley asked, ignoring the question completely, glancing away from a disapproving Aziraphale.   
“you were a bit off on your prediction. It’s been about five days. You’ve been in and out, quite a bit.” Crowley nodded, rubbing his head.   
“Crowley-“  
“Yes, angel, it happens often. Night terrors, they’re called. They’re usually not as bad as all that, but… well, stressful events tend to trigger them. I don’t… can we not talk about this? Please?” Crowley swallowed hard, the image of serpent fangs and angel blood popping into his mind before he could push it away.   
“Alright. For now, dearest.” Crowley smiled weakly at the angel, shifting his attention inward, feeling… whole. For the first time in centuries, he was complete and whole.  
“This is all, it’s so just… strange.” Crowley looked down at his hands wonderingly, letting a slight holy light flicker between his fingers. “I’d forgotten… its been so long I’d forgotten how it feels…” he trailed off, unable to conjure any words that could articulate the strange joy running through him. It was a piece of his soul, of his very being, that he’d been missing for almost 6000 years. He’d grown so used to that gaping hole in himself, that bottomless void, he’d almost convinced himself he didn’t miss anything, that he hadn’t lost anything. But he had, he always had, he eternally had missed it. Having it back was almost unbearable.   
“Crowley?” He looked up at Aziraphale’s hesitant voice, a grin cracking across his face.   
“Angel, my angel.” Crowley laughed, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his, pulling him towards the window, stepping out onto the balcony that hadn’t been there a moment before, stepping up onto the railing. He grinned, spread his wings, launched himself upwards. Aziraphale yelped, as he was lifted into the air, spreading his own wings as Crowley spiraled upwards, higher and higher, until they were dancing above the clouds, above the sky, until they were amongst the stars. He let out a whoop, twirling his angel through the air, pulling Aziraphale close as they hovered in space.  
“Crowley… what the dickens… are we doing up here?” Aziraphale panted, slightly out of breath, but grinning. Crowley’s energy and radiant joy was infectious. Crowley laughed, eyes lit up with excitement.   
“Just watch.” Crowley held his hands together, concentrating intently. Slowly, he began to move them apart in opposite directions, a blue light sparking, growing stronger, brighter, until with a last push it stabilized, and Crowley let it go, suspended in the air, sparkling like a diamond. Crowley circled it, looking over the top of the glow at Aziraphale, who was entranced by the dancing light, hand fluttering against his coat.   
“Crowley is that-“   
“It’s a star. It’s been too long since I could paint the sky. I made a star, Aziraphale!” He laughed breathlessly, blazing with light that took Aziraphale’s breath away. Aziraphale had never had the chance to see Crowley lit up with holy light, to see that radiant glow on his skin, to see him shimmering with stardust, radient with grace. Somehow it made him more beautiful, even more breathtaking and tempting than before. “And when the humans discover it, Aziraphale is what they’ll name it, without quite knowing why. It’s the same color as your eyes, you know.” Crowley added, circling back over to Aziraphale.  
“It’s… it’s beautiful, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered, though the words were directed at Crowley instead of the star. Crowley lightly kissed the tip of his nose, smiling.   
“It doesn’t hold a candle to its namesake, love. Now, where should we go for supper? I know I’m not usually big on the food thing, but I think I could use some after the week I’ve had.” Aziraphale chuckled.   
“Let’s get back down to earth first, my dear, and I’m not completely convinced you should be out and about yet. Maybe we’ll order something in, listen to some old records.”   
“Sounds delightful, angel.” A snap and they were back in the bookshop proper. Aziraphale must have cleaned up, because everything looked just as it had before the fight. Even still Crowley froze, until he felt Aziraphale’s hand in his.   
“It’s alright, dearest.” Crowley shot him a wry smile, letting down his guard with visible effort.   
“Did you know, I once scared them off from sending you back to heaven?” Crowley asked, sprawling across the couch, carefully careless, watching Aziraphale make a batch of cocoa.   
“Did you?”   
“You’d just opened the shop. It was when I came by with the chocolates.” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up.   
“You know, I do remember. I was so confused on what changed their minds so quickly. What exactly did you do, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, handing the demon a mug and sitting on the couch next to him. Crowley grinned.   
“A fine bit of acting is what. Lurking outside the tailors window talking about how terrible a go I was having of it because of the endless thwarting by a certain angel to some mannequins in cloaks.” Aziraphale laughed, leaning comfortably against Crowley, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders.   
“Should’ve known you had something to do with it. Should’ve known by then that you loved me, bringing over chocolates like that.” Aziraphale teased. Crowley snorted.   
“Well pulling one over on Gabriel wasn’t a chance I was willing to pass up. Besides, you seemed upset to go, and I wasn’t about to let you off that easily, now was I? Nah, you’re stuck with me, angel, no matter what comes next. Besides, Michael was always such a stickler for the rules, she wouldn’t have let me get away with half of what you did.” Crowley replied, his own voice teasing as he softly bumped the angel. Aziraphale let out a soft breath, taking a sip of his cocoa.   
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, dearest. I really, truly wouldn’t. Now, about these nightmares of yours…” He trailed off expectantly. Crowley sighed.   
“Really not gonna let that slide, are you? Usually I don’t flail so much, that doesn’t happen unless I’ve been especially riled up. Most times I can wake myself up out of them, some nights they don’t even happen. But when they do… well, they come at me with a vengeance, angel.” Crowley replied, grip tightening around his mug, taking a shaky sip of cocoa.   
“That’s what happened that morning you fell off the couch, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.  
“It’s all in my head, love. There’s not all that much you can do. They’re usually less, when I’m around you. Lately, at least, when we didn’t have to worry about being found out anymore. That’s probably why you didn’t notice. I usually can calm myself down fairly quick after waking, too, especially if you’re right there, reminding me that everything is fine. I was just too out of it to realize what was happening this time.” Aziraphale hesitated, not wanting to push but needing to know.   
“What… what are they about?” Crowley stiffened, set his mug down on the table, pulled away from Aziraphale and paced across the room, leaning against the window frame as he looked out at the lamp lit street.   
“They…were… about the fall. Bout Hell. That sort of thing. But…” Crowley took a deep breath in, looking down at the floor for a moment to steady his thoughts. “Well, I’ve had bigger fears since then, haven’t I? I’ve had more to lose these past few months than ever before. More that I did lose, that I almost lost. So my mind fills in the thousand thousand ways I could lose it, will lose it, might have lost it, until sometimes I wake up sure that it’s gone. But usually it’s a lot more permanent than you simply forgetting me. A lot more horrible, a lot more… painful.” Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes in the reflection of the glass, closing them as he saw realization flicker across the angel’s face, heard his soft steps crossing the room.   
He felt the angel reach out, turn him to face him, wrap his arms around the demon, who nestled his chin against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around behind the angel’s neck, holding him tightly, letting out a shaky breath.   
“It feels so real, Aziraphale. Every time I’m sure, just sure, that it’s real. Sometimes it’s you falling, sometimes it’s a botched attempt at stopping Armageddon, sometimes our sides found out too soon, sometimes I watch you burn, sometimes we don’t swap faces, sometimes… sometimes it’s me, Aziraphale, it’s me and I can’t stop and I’m trying and I’m terrified because what if… what if I did?” Crowley whispered, burying his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder, mindless of the wetness dripping down his cheeks.   
“Crowley. You would never, never, hurt me. I know you, I know you, dearest. You’d rather die yourself than live without me, you’d rather take any harm that comes our way than see me hurt. Never in all of eternity would you be capable of ever lifting a finger against me.”   
“I hit you.” Crowley whispered, voice miserable, and Aziraphale could feel him trembling. “I hit you, Aziraphale. I hurt you. What if I can’t snap out of it? What if I do worse?” Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s shoulders, moving him back so they were eye to eye, forcing him to look at his face.   
“That does not count. First of all, you immediately healed me, then apologized about a thousand times, then made a brand new star and named it after me. I’d say that’s more than enough of an apology. Secondly, you were in the middle of a nightmare where, I’m assuming, much worse was going on and you had every right to defend yourself. Besides, that didn’t really hurt me, Crowley. I’m a lot sturdier than you seem to think. What hurts is seeing you afraid of yourself, still, after all this time. You trust me?” Crowley nodded.   
“Of course, Ziri. Always.”   
“Then believe me when I say I have never once been afraid of you. I’ve never once believed you were going to do me harm. Even when you were a serpent at Eden, even when you were furious at me, even when you slammed me against the wall at the ex-convent, I wasn’t at all afraid or threatened. Because I know you better than you know yourself. And I know, with everything I am, that you would never, ever, truly hurt me.” Aziraphale gazed steadily into Crowley’s eyes, letting him see the burning sincerity, the bottomless trust he had in his demon. Slowly, Crowley’s bearing lightened somewhat, his shoulders less slumped, his eyes a bit brighter.   
“Aziraphale-“   
“Hush, dearest.” Aziraphale pressed a finger to Crowley’s lips, the demon stilling once again under his touch. He could feel Crowley’s heart racing, the surge of heat that rushed to his face, the overwhelming love that Crowley radiated towards the angel, the endless love he harbored. It took his breath away, that Crowley was capable of such undying, endless affection. That he chose to give it all to Aziraphale.   
Crowley leaned forward, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s, breathing in his air, letting his muscles relax, letting his fear drain away, letting himself simply be, for a moment.   
“How are you so good to me, angel mine?” Crowley asked softly, lips curled in a wry half smile.   
“Someone has to be, and it’s clear you won’t give yourself any slack. Really, it’s a good thing I’m here, or you would have fallen to pieces ages ago.” Aziraphale replied, eliciting a chuckle from Crowley, as he’d hoped.   
“Touché, love. Touché.” Crowley kissed him softly, deeply, feeling the angel press against him, twine his hands through his hair, and Crowley pulled him closer, hands on his waist.   
“Do you think, instead of listening to music, you could read to me a bit? I think… I think falling asleep to your voice might help.” Crowley commented after a few long moments lost in each other’s warmth. Aziraphale smiled, noting the red tint to the tips of Crowley’s ears, as close as the demon ever got to blushing.   
“Of course, Crowley. Let me pick out something you’ll find suitably boring. You can help, if you like, just don’t break anything.” Aziraphale replied, already moving off among the books, looking for something Crowley would like, but that he wouldn’t get too invested in. Crowley followed him like a shadow, until they finally settled into bed with an old copy of Walt Whitman poetry. The demon was soon drifting off to his angel’s voice, knowing tonight, at least, he was safe and warm and with whom he loved best in all the worlds. For the first night in a long time, Crowley slept well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene Crowley describes, scaring off Gabriel from sending Aziraphale back to heaven is based off a deleted scene from the show. It's my favorite so I threw it in there.


End file.
